


Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons)

by Clitler



Series: Destiel Playlist [30]
Category: Supernatural, The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Boys Kissing, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clitler/pseuds/Clitler
Summary: Dean and his merry band make it CaliforniaWhat they find there will surprise them





	Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the smut.
> 
> As always, unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons)

            “Oh, yes, Dean,” Cas sighed.

 

            Dean smiled into Cas’ soft stomach and lapped gently at the head of his leaking dick, making it jump and twitch.  Out of Cas’ line of sight, Dean popped the cap on the lube and squirted some out on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it a little.  Cas spread his legs further in anticipation.  As good as it felt to have Dean nuzzling and randomly licking his dick, he was ready to move on and waited impatiently for Dean to open him up, but the cool, wet press of fingers never came.  Cas lifted his head, looking down the line of his own body in confusion.

 

            Dean smirked up at him and Cas lifted up on his elbows, “Are you…”

 

            Dean pulled his fingers out and added some more lube to his hand, jacking Cas’ dick with it.  Cas hissed at the cold jelly but flopped back and groaned, hands gripping the sleeping bag on either side of his hips.

 

            “Wanna ride you, angel.  That okay?”

 

            “ _Hunh_ …yes,” He should have known, but he’d been so tired lately, it just slipped his attention.  Jody and Donna were on watch tonight and that was the only time Dean felt relaxed enough to bottom.  Tomorrow, they would be in Pilot Hill, so Dean was too keyed up to lie back and let Cas take care of him.  Not that Cas was going to argue, the few times they’d done this had been spectacular and definitely Cas’ favorite.

 

            Dean held Cas’ slick cock up straight and slowly lowered his ass, impaling himself on the hot thickness.  Cas’ hands moved up to grip Dean’s hips as soon as he was fully seated, fighting the impulse to thrust up as Dean’s inner muscles rippled around his dick, trying to adjust to the intrusion.  Cas had had plenty of sex in his life, but it was with women, for the most part.  The few men he’d been with had always been tops.  Dean was the first man he’d been with like this and he refused to believe it would have felt as good with anyone else.

 

            “Cas, look at me,” Dean whispered.  Cas cracked his eyes open to see Dean smiling down at him.  As soon as they locked gazes, Dean rolled his hips in a figure eight and Cas’ breath was punched out of him at the silky wet feeling of being inside Dean’s tight heat.  Setting both palms on Cas chest, Dean raised up a few inches and slammed back down.  He laughed in that high, breathy way that showed his joy at seeing Cas so lost already.  Cas’ fingers flexed where they burrowed into Dean’s skin and he gritted his teeth, trying so desperately to hold on.  Dean took pity on him and leaned over enough to kiss him, long and slow, just a languid slide of tongue and lips to distract him.  When he felt Cas relax under him, he began pushing his ass back and rolling his hips forward, fucking himself slowly on Cas’ dick.

 

            Dean sat back up and the change in angle was enough to brush the head of Cas’ dick across his prostate with every thrust.  Dean let his head fall back as he rode.  Cas’ eyes went wide, taking in the sight of Dean’s muscles sliding under his freckled skin, his cock red with blood, jutting out proudly and bouncing with Dean’s movements.  Dean pushed both hands through his own hair and groaned when he felt Cas’ long fingers wrap around his aching cock.

 

            “Fuck, Cas…ungh…ain’t gonna last like this,” Dean breathed, looking at down at Cas.  The man looked thoroughly undone already and Dean hadn’t even built up any speed, but that was okay.  Dean knew this was such a rare thing for them, neither of them had built up any resistance so it never lasted long.

 

            Cas bit his bottom lip and his eyes darted from where he stroked Dean’s beautiful dick, then to his eyes, dark and twinkling with mischief, “Pl-please, Dean…I…I…can’t…oh God, please…”

 

            “I know, angel, I know,” Dean settled his weight back and stilled his movements.  Cas’ breath left him in a rush.  Dean ran his blunt nails down Cas’ chest in a barely-there scratch, a half-smile quirking his lips, “Want you to fuck me hard, now, Cas, you wanna?”

 

            Cas nodded frantically, grabbing Dean’s right arm and hauling him down.  Dean chuckled as he kissed Cas, Cas’ mouth devouring him as the man planted his heels in the slippery material of the sleeping bag.  Cas pressed his hand to the small of Dean’s back, the other going to his hip, and started pounding upwards.

 

            “Hunh…hunh…hunh…hunh…fuck…Cas…shit…angel…so good…love…when…you lose…it…come on…Cas…fuck me…like that…harder…yeah…fuck yeah…oh, fuck…gonna come…fucking…oh…oh…. ah…come in me…Cas…please… _fuck_ …hunh…”  Dean’s dick spasmed, shooting warm come between their stomachs as his ass locked down with the force of his orgasm.

 

            Cas grunted as his orgasm shot through him spreading warmth through his chest as he unloaded warmth into Dean.  His feet scrambled for purchase as he tried to bury himself deeper but as euphoria ebbed, he relaxed, his legs flopping down to the sleeping bag, his arms sliding off of Dean’s broad back.  Dean panted warm breath across his neck and rolled off his chest, pulling his softening dick out at the same time.

 

            “Sorry,” Cas breathed as they lay shoulder to shoulder.

 

            “What the Hell for?”

 

            “I wanted to…make that last a little longer,” Cas turned his head, his big blue eyes begging forgiveness.  Dean snorted and rolled over to lie in his arms and kiss his stupid face.

 

            “You’re a jackass,” Cas’ brows drew together in confusion, “If I wanted a marathon, I wouldn’t have asked for it that way.  Neither of us last long like that, that was kinda the point.”

 

            “You wanted a quickie?”

 

            “Well, yeah, somethin’ quick and intense, ya know? Wear me out.”

 

            “Ah, I see.  I was just your living dildo, your breathing sex doll…” Dean smacked his shoulder and reached over for a towel to clean them up with a muttered ‘idjit’.

 

            Curling up on his right side, with Cas’ strong arms around him and his warm chest pressed against his back, Dean sighed, trying not to let the stress of what tomorrow would mean ruin his post-coital contentment.  Cas nuzzled into the hair at the back of Dean’s neck as they both slipped off into sleep.

 

 

 

            How Dean got roped into driving the short bus again, he had no clue.  He was about three seconds from driving off the overpass, though, if Kevin didn’t stop that humming.

 

            “ _Baby, can you dig yo man? He’s a righteous man!_ ” Kevin mumbled.

 

            “Kevin, I swear to God, man!  I will fucking cut you!” Dean growled.  That fucking song!  Dean hoped whoever wrote that song was long dead, otherwise he’d have to hunt the fucker down and strangle him with one of Cas’ guitar strings.

 

            “Sorry, Chief,” Kevin muttered.  “It’s just, there’s no music when we’re driving!  It’s boring as shit.

 

            “Read the book Cas gave you, then.”

 

            “I gave it to Claire.”

 

            “Why?”

 

            Claire’s voice, from the back of the bus, “Because I was bored.”

 

            “Oh, fuck me, read something else, then.”

 

            “Everything got packed up with the guns and stuff in the SUV.”

 

            “I’ll sing something,” Cas volunteered.  “What do you want to hear?”

 

            As much as Dean hated that stupid song, Cas’ voice wasn’t much better, “Maybe just play something,” he suggested.  Cas narrowed his eyes at him when Dean dared to sneak a peek at his boyfriend in the big mirror over the driver’s seat.

 

            “Bastille,” Kevin said happily.

 

            “I don’t know that one,” Cas said, head tilted.

 

            “It’s not a song, it’s a-“

 

            “Free Bird!” Claire shouted from the back.

 

            “I don’t know that one, either,” Cas slumped in his seat.

 

            “Just play Dream On,” Dean said.

 

            “How can you not know Free Bird?  Isn’t that like, iconic for you guys?” Claire asked as she moved up to sit behind Kevin.

 

            “You guys?” Dean asked.

 

            “Yeah, ya know, like, _old_ guys,” she answered.

 

            “Hey! I’m only 33!” Dean sputtered.

 

            “Like I said,” she rolled her eyes at Kevin.

 

“I saw that, missy,” Dean warned.

 

“So, what’s up with that, Cas?” she asked Cas, who blushed and looked down at his guitar.

 

“He only knows songs with ‘dream’ in the title,” Dean explained.

 

“Seriously? That’s kinda weird. Why?” Kevin asked.

 

“Those are the songs I like, so those are the ones I learned,” Cas mumbled.

 

“Hey, he taught himself how to play then taught himself a bunch of songs.  I think it’s amazing, Cas,” Dean smiled at his boyfriend in the big mirror.  Cas gave him that big gummy grin he loved so much, and Dean reluctantly dragged his eyes back to the road. When had he become such a sap?

 

“How about ‘Sweet Dreams’?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“’Dream a Little Dream’?”

 

“’Dreams’, Fleetwood Mac?”

 

“’Day Dream Believer’?”

 

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Cas beamed at Kevin and Claire.

 

“’Dream Police’?”

 

“’Dreams’, Air Supply?”

 

“’River of Dreams’?”

 

“Yes, yes, and absolutely not.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I hate Billy Joel.”

 

“What? How can you hate Billy Joel? I thought all old-um, adults, loved that guy?”

 

“I met him once, he’s smarmy.”

 

“Wait, you met Billy Joel? When?”

 

Dean let their banter wash over him until he tuned out and could just drive.  This stretch of the highway was pretty clear, so he locked eyes on the tow truck’s tail lights and let his mind wonder. 

 

Bypassing Nevada had been a good decision.  He’d argued for thirty minutes with Jody about it, but she wouldn’t budge.  She firmly believed what the old woman had told her.  Before the Caravan had picked up Kevin or Claire, the old woman had told Jody and Donna that they had come out of the West and picked her up on the California/Nevada border.  She’d started out in Carson City and claimed the whole state had gone to shit.  The bastards’d had nothing but trouble driving through the desert and Vegas had been a nightmare. She wouldn’t go into too much detail, but she mentioned that Alfie had been speaking and somewhat sane when they picked her up.  He was neither by the time they drove over the border to Utah and cut North toward Wyoming.  Whatever had happened to them in Nevada was bad enough, even secondhand, that Donna and Jody flat-out refused to step foot in the state.  Despite the breakdown Dean had had over the delay, the mushroom cloud they spotted as they crossed the Oregon/California border had put paid to the old woman’s words.

 

Dean glanced down at his watch.  About two more hours to Pilot Hills.  They’d have to stop to gas up before that, definitely needed to find a map since Dean hadn’t been out here to see Sam before it all went to shit and had no idea how to find 1110 Cherokee Circle (How _domestic_ of you, Sam.  Ha, ha! I know, but it was in our price range and Jess’ folks live two blocks away).  God, Dean missed his brother’s laugh.  Cas laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed, whispering, “Almost there,” in his ear and Dean blew out a long breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.  Rufus signaled a right turn up ahead and Dean followed suit.  He pulled the bus into line with the tow truck and opened the accordion door with the big lever.

 

“Have a good day at school, children!” He called as his three of his four passengers stumbled out, “Thanks for riding the short bus!”

           

            “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?” Billie asked, no malice in her voice.  They had quickly discovered she only _looked_ scary, she actually had a great sense of humor, when you could get her to talk, that was.  A woman of few words, was their Billie.

 

            Dean tipped his head back to smile at Billie where she stood behind the yellow line, “I think I’m adorable!”

 

            Billie snorted and descended the three little steps gracefully.  She’d been their saving grace when they found her in Idaho.  She’d taught them how to get gasoline from any station without using the pumps.  How she knew this little trick, she wouldn’t say.  Dean didn’t really care because it cut weeks of travel time off their schedule, if they could drive.  With the tow truck to move the wrecks, the little yellow school bus for passengers, and the cargo van for supplies, they were travelling in style, and, better yet, _quickly_.  The only tension Billie had caused was when she’d tried to argue them into a great big RV instead of the little bus.  Claire hadn’t spoken for three days after that argument.  Dean walked around to where Jody and Donna stood above Rufus, who was already prying the cover off the reservoir but was shooed off and told to go look for a map. 

 

            Walking into the convenience store attached to the gas station, Dean was immediately assaulted by the stench of long-soured milk, something he never got used to.  The place was completely untouched, which was unsurprising, considering how clear the highway had been.  Folks around here had had the good sense to stay home to die, apparently.

 

            “AAAANNNDDD WE HAVE A WINNER!!” Balthazar’s (Just call me Zar, dahling) called from behind the cash register, where he was standing, waving a baggy of pot at Cas, who stood at the counter grinning like an idiot.  Dean still hadn’t figured out what Cas saw in the guy, but the minute they’d met the flamboyant Frenchman (Paris by way of London, dahling), the two had gotten on like a house afire.  He and Cas had stumbled upon Baltie (Ima call him Baltie, ‘k Cas? Dean, please don’t be mean.) in front of an Oregon State cop shop, drunk as a skunk, dressed in a very disheveled tux, singing some French song at the top of his lungs.  He wasn’t much use so far, besides making Cas laugh on a daily basis, which irked Dean as much as pleased him, but he was the very Devil at finding dead-people drug stashes.

 

            “I _told_ you I smelled skunk, Cassie dear!”

 

            Cas laughed that full-body laugh he only had in the presence of weed and snatched the bag from Balthazar’s hand, “You did not!”

 

            “Well, I _would_ have, if I’d been allowed to ride with the cool kids,” Baltie not-so-subtly cut his eyes over at Dean, who gave him the finger, also not-so-subtly.

 

            “Hey, Donna and Jody are cool,” Kevin piped up from behind a shelf, making Dean’s heart jump.  He hadn’t even seen the sneaky little fucker!

 

            “Glad you feel that way, Doctor, because you can take my place in the rolling armory for the rest of today’s journey,” Balthazar laughed as he hopped over the counter with a handful of rolling papers, which Cas also nabbed.  “I am going to get Dean’s angel really, really high because it’s Friday and he ain’t got no job!”

 

            “I don’t understand that reference,” Cas stated simply as he shoved a couple lighters in his pockets.  Kevin rolled his eyes at Dean and muttered a ‘sorry’ as he made for the door, his arms full of bags of Cheetos, something Claire always asked for.  Stale or not, that girl would eat her weight in Cheetos every day, if Jody let her.  The two older women had unofficially adopted the youngest member of their group and Dean did not envy the girl all the mothering.  At least she had Kevin wrapped around her finger.  Dean had caught the kid throwing her longing gazes whenever she wasn’t looking, and he was trying very hard not to tease the boy.

 

            Dean accepted a kiss from Cas as he and Balthazar walked out to the bus, loaded down with Funyuns and Twinkies, then made his way back to the reach-ins to clear the place of water bottles.  Cas’ descriptions of California without electricity to pump water into the state had Dean paranoid.  There were two rows of seats on the bus that were currently occupied by gallons, cases, and stray bottles of purified water and now he was working on filling the passenger seat of the tow truck, much to Rufus’ consternation.  The older man hadn’t said a word, though, letting Dean work out his worries in any healthy way he could.

 

            As he stuffed the water-filled duffle into the floor board of the tow truck, Dean felt a small tap on his shoulder and turned to see Claire looking exasperated.  “I’m gonna ride with the Moms.”

 

            She must have heard about Balthazar’s plan from Kevin.  Since the Caravan, the girl hadn’t taken so much as a Tylenol.  Donna said it was because of all the drugs Bart had forced on them.  “Sure, okay.”

 

            Dean climbed back on the bus just in time to see Billie snatch Cas’ tray, covered in hunks of bud, off his lap as she walked by.  Balthazar and Cas watched in fascination as Billie quickly broke the weed down and expertly rolled three fat joints.  She handed one to each of them, along with the now-bare tray, and took hers and a lighter to the back of the bus.  Cas and Balthazar snorted laughter and lit up.  Dean shook his head and put the bus in gear, following Rufus back out onto the highway.

 

 

 

            “There it is,” Dean said.  They had parked side-by-side at the end of the street and Dean could see Sam’s house at the far end of the cul-de-sac.  It was definitely the right house, same rolling front lawn edged with red brick pavers that Sam had bitched about running over with the mower because he refused to use a weed whacker, same steep roof that Sam had complained about mounting Christmas lights to, but Jess had wanted it, so every year, Sam risked his life on that roof.  Five years of marriage and still no kids, so, yeah, Sam did whatever Jess wanted.

 

            “I’ll go with you,” Cas said quietly behind him.

 

            “We’ll all go, if you want, Chief,” Donna said from the bottom step of the bus.  Dean shook his head, eyes clenched tightly shut, hands white-knuckle on the big steering wheel.

 

            “Just Cas,” he gritted out.

 

            Cas hustled everyone out of the bus, “Give us a minute.”

 

            As grateful as Dean was that everyone had been more than willing to help him get here, all the fears he hadn’t let overwhelm him before were threatening to do just that.  What if Sam was dead?  That seemed the most likely outcome.  Nobody else’s brothers or sisters or parents or children had lived, so maybe the whole genetics theory was something he made up to keep himself from going crazy.  What if he went in there and his little brother and his beautiful wife were withered up husks in their bed?  Could he see that?  Could he take that without his mind shattering into a million tiny pieces?  Could he see little Sammy-

 

            “Dean,” Cas said gently, his hand on Dean’s shoulder.  He undid Dean’s seatbelt and took his hand, pulling him to his feet, “You can do this.”

 

            Dean took a deep breath as he looked into those blue-blue eyes.  Yeah, he could do this, but only because it wasn’t just about him anymore.  It wasn’t even about just Sam, anymore.  He had Cas to think about now.  And Claire and Kevin, Donna and Jody, Rufus and Billie, Hell, even Balthazar depended on him.  By following him all this way, they’d trusted him to look after them and he wouldn’t let anything stop him from doing just that.  Sam would expect nothing less. “Yeah, angel, we can.” Dean led Cas off the bus and down the street, their group arrayed between the bus and the van behind them.

 

            The front door was unlocked, and Dean tried to ignore the screaming in his head that told him it was a bad sign.  He stepped over the threshold, one hand in Cas’, the other hovering over his Colt in its holster on his hip.  They stood in the living room, listening, but there were no sounds, not even birds.  Another bad sign.  On to the formal dining room and around to the kitchen, even the little half-bath off the entryway, but the whole place was spotless, no dirty plates left on the kitchen table, no ransacked books spilling out of the bookshelf, no dead little brothers.  Cas gasped a little as he looked out the sliding glass door in the kitchen and Dean’s eyes followed to see what he was seeing.  At the back of the yard, a huge California live oak stood, a little swing hanging from one of its branches, and below the swing, a wooden cross was planted in the ground.

 

            Dean silently unlatched the door and strode quickly through the yard, with Cas following close behind.  He fell to his knees when he was close enough to read what had been carved into the cross.

 

            “Oh, Dean,” Cas gasped as he sunk to his knees next to Dean and the grave.

 

            “He lived long enough to bury her,” he whispered as his fingers traced the letters his brother had painstakingly cut into the pine boards, ‘Jessica Lee Winchester Beloved Wife’.  “We have to check the upstairs. Come on.”

 

            Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and they went back inside.  His brother’s room was empty, the bed still made, so was his office, the guest room, and the bathroom.  Dean sat at the top of the stairs and tried to get his breathing under control.  “He lived… _Cas_ …Sam’s alive!”  Cas side hugged him and sniffled back tears.  Dean grinned, his mind racing, trying to think where the Hell the kid could have gone.  Surely, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try to get to Kansas?  Dean laughed, _he’d_ been stupid enough to try the same journey! God, what if they’d just missed each other? What if-

 

            Dean’s smile fell as something occurred to him, something horrible, “There’s a basement.”

 

            “What? No, this is California, they don’t-“ Cas said.

 

            “They have a basement, Sam told me once, said it even had a little closet under the stairs like the one in the house we grew up in.  Sam used to hide down there during thunder storms, he was terrified of the thunder.  Mom and Dad could never find him, but I always sat with him, held him, under the basement stairs.  It was our safe place,” Dean looked at Cas in horror.  Cas swallowed heavily.  “Come on.  I have to know,” Dean choked out.

 

            The penlight Dean kept on his keychain did little to light the dark basement, but between that and the sunlight filtering down from the bright kitchen, they wouldn’t trip on the stairs.  The closet under the stairs was there, it’s door painted white instead of the yellow of their childhood home, just like Sam had said.  Dean blew out a shaky breath and reached out with an even shakier hand to grasp the tiny knob.  Cas laid his hand over Dean’s to steady him and together, they turned the knob.  The door swung on its creaky hinge and Dean tried not to sob when all they saw was a few carboard boxes in the small space.

 

            Instead, he dropped to his knees on the dirt floor, “Oh _fuck…_ Jesus fucking Christ…oh man…my fucking heart, Cas!” Dean breathed out a shaky laugh, clutched his chest and flopped onto his ass, putting his back to the little door, willing his heart to slow its pounding gallop.

 

            Cas laughed lightly, if a little watery, “He’s alive!  Dean, he’s alive! He…left a note.”

 

            “ ** _What_**?!” Dean scrambled around the open door and crawled to where Cas was bent over inside the closet.

 

            “Look,” Cas laughed, “It says ‘Dear Jerk’.”

 

            “Oh my God, _Sammy_!” Dean exclaimed, snatching the note from Cas’ hand.

 

            Dean’s eyes scanned the note, which was in Sam’s psychopath scrawl, he’d know that handwriting anywhere, and he read it out for Cas, “’Dear Jerk, So, get this, the apocalypse came, just like Pops used to warn us about.  Only it wasn’t the Russkies, it was a virus.  Isn’t that stupid?  Something you can’t even see with the naked eye.  Anyway, Jess died.  I put her under that tree she loved so much, used to say we’d be happy for that swing when we had kids.  I told her the kids would probably climb the tree and break their arms when they fell out.”  A couple of circles of warped paper told Dean Sam had cried writing that part, ”Enough about that.  You won’t believe it, but Brady, of all fucking people, survived.  He came out here a few days ago, said it’s all gone to shit out there.  I thought I’d come find you, but I know you’re probably already on your way here and if you’re reading this, I guess I was right.  So, I’m going with Brady out to San Fran, see if any of his family made it.  I don’t know exactly where we’ll end up, but I know you’ll find me.  See ya soon, Big Brother.  Love, Bitch  P.S. There’s no thunder in the storms out here, I really miss it.”

 

            Dean hung his head on his knees and cried, cried like he hadn’t let himself cry since this whole thing started.  Every person he’d loved; Dad, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Garth, Ash, Benny, he’d lost all of them.  Even when he thought, for a brief time, that he was the last person left alive on the planet, never had he let himself cry like this.  But Sam, his little brother, was alive and Dean had never felt such relief and that opened the floodgates to all the grief he’d never processed.

 

            Some indeterminate time later, Dean raised his head to Cas sitting next to him, holding Sam’s note and a box of Kleenex, “Guess we’re going to San Francisco?”

 

            Dean snorted and took a handful of tissues and blew his nose, “We better go tell everyone else.”

 

            Dean stopped Cas as they went up the basement stairs, “Hey, um, listen, Cas.  Anyone who doesn’t want to go any further is welcome to go off on their own.  I’ll make sure they’re outfitted and secure.”

 

            “I don’t think anyone will want to-“

 

            “That includes you,” Dean muttered, looking down at his boots and letting Cas’ hand go, “I’ll, uh, I’ll understand if you’ve had enough of this shit.  I mean, if you want to go off, maybe with Balthazar, I get it.  Um, no hard feelin’s, okay?”

 

            Cas stepped in and cupped Dean’s jaw, raising his face, “I am not going anywhere, Dean, not ever.  Not as long as you want me.  I love you, you fool.”  Cas sealed his mouth to Dean’s, just a chaste crush of lips, but it was the reassurance Dean needed to make the offer to the other people he was quickly coming to think of as his family.

 

            Dean and Cas only got about twenty feet from the front porch when Dean realized something was very wrong with his people.  Namely: there were too many of them.  As he and Cas approached the vehicles, he could make out several people he didn’t recognize, first and foremost the slim redhead girl standing in front of the bus, holding a gun to Rufus’ head.

 

            Dean and Cas slowed down but didn’t stop until they were ten feet in front of the redhead.

 

            “Hola, bitches!” she chirped, “You must be Dean and Cal.”

 

            “Cas,” Kevin grumbled from under the gun of a big hulk of a man.  The kid had a black eye and if it was the big guy, Dean was gonna kill him, slowly.

 

            The redhead rolled her eyes, “Dean and Cas, then. _Sooorrryy_!”

 

            “You seem to have us at a disadvantage, Miss?” Cas said, all calm politeness.

 

            “Charlie.  Now, tell me where you were taking these people and I won’t have to shoot Morgan Freeman here in the head.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes! Sam's alive! Or, at least, he was.
> 
> No, I'm not that cruel.
> 
> But just to be sure, you should read the next one, which will hopefully be done by Wednesday.


End file.
